


the landscape of love

by quiddative



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Orpheus and Eurydice Myth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 14:47:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3940804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiddative/pseuds/quiddative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“He said you’d come,” said one of the two Harrys in the middle. “‘Cause you’re looking for something you lost.”</p><p>“Do you want to play a game with us?” asked the other Harry in the middle. “If you win, we’ll help you find what you're looking for.”</p><p>“But,” said the last Harry, smirking, “if you lose, you’ll never find it.”</p><p>(or: Draco takes back what is his)</p>
            </blockquote>





	the landscape of love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thethaumas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thethaumas/gifts).



> It's Cassia's birthday!! Whaaaat?

Ron Weasley looked about as happy to be standing at the doorway of the Manor as a Crup about to get its forked tail severed. “Weasley,” Draco said in the most neutral tone of voice he possessed while trying to quell the rapid beating of his heart at all the possible reasons that could bring the other wizard here.

(There was really only one.)

“Malfoy,” Weasley gritted his teeth. “I need to speak with you.”

“We’re already speaking,” Draco replied, just to be an asshole.

Weasley hands twitched but they remained firmly at his side. Draco found himself begrudgingly respecting his self-control. “In private,” he grunted.

Draco reluctantly swung the door open wider and gestured for Weasley to follow him into the smaller receiving room. He thanked his stars that his mother had recently gone to the south of France for a holiday and all the house elves would certainly be sworn to secrecy by the time she came back.

A house elf immediately brought over a tea set and some sandwiches. Draco calmly poured two cups and passed one to Weasley, who took it with a mumbled “thanks,” although he made no move to drink from it.

His former classmate was doing a remarkable job of somehow successfully avoiding looking at either the room or Draco’s face, focusing intently on his tea instead. Draco took pity on him. “So,” he said, “you wanted to speak.”

Weasley bit his lip and something dark and troubling clouded his eyes. “Yeah,” he muttered, setting his cup down. His plate of sandwiches sat untouched. “It’s about Harry.”

The air in Draco’s lungs evaporated, leaving his insides shriveled up like a plant without enough water. “What about him?” he asked in a deliberate drawl. He made a show of popping one of the coronation chicken sandwiches in his mouth and slowly chewing it.

Weasley shot him an icy glare that Draco knew would make even his father recoil. If his father were here and not currently living out his sentence in Azkaban. “You can drop the stupid act,” said Weasley. “I know about you two.”

Draco swallowed. He and Harry had never been properly referred to as “you two” except by the occasional Muggle during those few blissful months they spent together hiding from the weight of the world in the secret nooks and alleys of Muggle London. It was strange to hear an actual wizard, especially someone like Weasley, say it.

“And?” Draco said with forced nonchalance. “If you wanted to do something about it, I’m afraid you’re a bit too late.”

Draco ended the relationship the week before Harry and the rest of their classmates (the surviving ones anyway) were due to return to Hogwarts to make up for the hell that was the previous year. Although McGonagall had extended the same offer to Draco and other Slytherin students, he knew he wasn’t going to be wanted there by anyone except, foolishly, Harry.

He also knew that Harry wouldn’t have given a rat’s ass about things like impropriety or what the rest of the wizarding world would have thought about them, not like Draco did. As selfish as he was, he knew he’d crumble under the judgment.

So, for the first time in his life, he let go of something he wanted.

Weasley snorted. “Don’t worry, I already know all the gory details, more or less, though you should be grateful that I even managed to get Harry to share any of _that_ with me. I’m not here to give you the ass kicking you deserve, if that’s what you think.” Weasley’s face grew solemn and it was not the first time that Draco was struck by the realization that he--and his classmates--were no longer children.

(He hadn’t felt like one in a long, long time.)

“I’m here because--” Weasley bit his bottom lip and turned away. He continued in a whisper, “Because Harry is dying.”

Something within Draco shattered.

(It was the half full tea cup that had fallen from his hands.)

 

* * *

 

One of Draco’s favourite things about Harry was his hands.

He loved playing with them during the rare quiet moments they used to share at Grimmauld Place, holding them during sex, and just touching them whenever he could. Their callouses and scars told a story--of the years of labour he endured with his Muggle relatives, his dedication to Quidditch, and his eventual triumph over the Dark Lord. They were strong, good hands that protected people.

They looked nothing like Draco’s hands, which were pale, bony, and had never seen a day of hard work. Harry used to grasp them in his own hands and bring them up to his mouth, kissing each knuckle reverently like Draco’s very presence was a _gift_.

Draco never had the courage to tell him that, if anything, _he_ was the lucky one for even being allowed to touch Harry.

 

* * *

 

After producing Harry’s Invisible Cloak from his pocket and throwing it over Draco, Weasley Apparated both of them to St. Mungo’s. Draco knew right away which room was Harry’s, as a small congregation of redheads stood guard outside one door. Even though he _knew_  there was no possible way they could know he was there, he still tightened his grip over his wand. It had been a long time since he was naive enough to believe that the Weasleys, for all the good they possessed, would easily forgive him and his family for all the hurt they directly and indirectly caused in the last few years.

“Is Hermione in there?” He heard Weasley ask his mother.

“Yes,” she answered. “Do you want one of us to go in there with you?”

Weasley shook his head. “No, it’s alright.” He opened the door and held it wide open as he purposely entered the room in a slow gait, leaving Draco just enough time and space to squeeze in after him.

The private room was surprisingly small, considering its occupant, and absent of any decorations. The egg white walls were a stark contrast against the dark grim walls of the Manor, certainly, but Draco found no comfort in looking at these ones either. Having never visited St. Mungo’s before, Draco didn’t know what he should have expected, but his skin crawled at the lifelessness that blanketed the room like a suffocating miasma. It was even worse than when the Dementors were guarding Hogwarts in his Third Year.

And then his eyes landed on Harry’s prone form in the bed and he found something far, far worse than that.

He almost didn’t recognize him at first; after eight years, he was used to Harry being a big presence that was always in motion, not the still body that he was now. His normally tanned skin was pale, almost as pale as Draco’s own skin, and his hands--

The hands that Draco loved so much were too pale and thin and--and _lifeless_ to belong to Harry.

He faintly registered Weasley locking the door behind them and casting a silencing spell. Granger straightened up in her chair by the bed. “Ron?” she said. “What are you doing?”

“You can take it off now,” said Weasley quietly.

Draco exhaled shakily before removing the Invisibility Cloak. Granger already had her wand in her hand as she sprang out of her chair, aiming it at Draco’s throat. “What the hell are _you_ doing here?” she barked.

Before Draco could even open his mouth, Weasley stepped in front of him. “Wait, wait! Hermione, before you yell at me, he’s here to help.”

While keeping her wand steadily pointed at Draco, Granger turned to stare incredulously at Weasley. “How can _he_ help?” she hissed. “You know what the prophecy said and he’s the last--”

“Yeah, well, Harry might not have been completely honest with us…”

As they continued arguing, Draco took his chance to move closer to Harry. What felt like ice water ran down his spine as he got a better look at the other wizard.

This wasn’t _his_  Harry--even though he knew he no longer had the right to call him _his_. This wasn’t the Harry he used to hold in his arms during stiflingly humid August nights in Grimmauld Place; this wasn’t the Harry who shone brighter than the sun whenever he was on a broom; this wasn’t the Harry who stood tall and proud in front of the shell that used to be known as Tom Riddle nearly a year ago and cast the spell that ended their world’s nightmare once and for all.

He reached out and brushed the back of his fingers on Harry’s cheeks. His skin was so, so unbearably cold.

He jumped back when Harry’s body suddenly began to glow softly, engulfing the room in a warm yellow light. He heard Granger gasp. “It can’t be…”

He whipped around to ask her and Weasley what the hell was going on but the question died in his throat when his eyes landed on a summoning circle that had _certainly_  not been at the foot of the bed earlier. Weasley and Granger were staring at it, too, though without nearly as much shock as Draco would’ve expected.

“What in bloody Merlin’s name is going on?” he snapped, jolting Weasley and Granger out of their stupor. “And what does that--” he pointed at the circle, “--have to do with Harry dying?”

Granger glanced at Weasley, who simply shrugged, before (thankfully) pocketing her wand. “The day before Harry collapsed, Trelawney made a prophecy,” she explained.

 _“Death will come for him who defied him twice._  
_Before his nineteenth year, he who conquered Death,_  
_Must either pay the price_  
_Or be saved by true love’s selflessness.”_

“By the time McGonagall was able to get a message to us, it was too late,” continued Weasley, his voice hoarse. “We were having dinner at the Burrow when he--when he collapsed.”

“That was a week ago,” Granger whispered, sounding like she was about to cry. “His birthday is tomorrow. If we can’t save him today--”

“He’ll die,” said Draco. He turned back to stare at Harry and, for the first time since the war, Draco was paralyzed with fear.

Harry couldn’t die. He just _couldn’t_.

“We thought that Ginny would be his true love at first,” said Granger. “But when she kissed him, nothing happened.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a small stone and a wand. “We even tried using the Deathly Hallows,” she continued, “but nothing worked--”

“Until now,” finished Weasley, looking at Draco with an expression that Draco had never seen directed at him from the other wizard before. It might have been respect.

Draco choked back a laugh (it tasted bitter in his throat). “I’m not his true love,” he said firmly. One’s _true love_ wouldn’t break up with the person they loved after three incredible months of fiery touches and soft confessions. He knew that Gryffindors were sentimental fools--all of them--but this--

This felt too much like hope.

“Well, this is the the best we’ve been able to do so far so I’d disagree,” said Granger dryly. She folded her arms. “Look, I still don’t like you and you can be sure that I have _a lot_  of questions for you, but right now...” Her face softened and, not for the first time, Draco found himself realizing that she was really quite beautiful. “Right now, you’re our only hope of keeping Harry alive and I’m willing to agree with anything at this point to save him.”

“Did you know this was going to happen?” Draco asked Weasley.

Weasley shook his head. “All I knew was I was desperate.” He pinned Draco with a pleading gaze. “Please, you have to help him. I don’t care how or what happens afterwards, you just need to help him _now_.”

Draco swallowed and glanced at Harry.

(Years later, he will wake up screaming from nightmares featuring Harry’s too still, too pale body lying on a too small hospital bed.)

“Alright,” he said finally. He brushed his fingers over Harry’s hair and thought, as hard as he could, _“Don’t you dare die, you bastard. Or I’ll never forgive you.”_

“Wait,” said Granger.

She flicked her wand and the Invisibility Cloak flew into her waiting arms from the ground. She then presented it, the stone, and the wand to Draco. “Take them,” she said, worrying her bottom lip. “I have a feeling you’ll need it.”

Draco nodded and took them, shrinking them and putting them in his pocket. He then made his way to the summoning circle and, with one last glance at the boy he loved, exhaled deeply before stepping into the circle.

 

* * *

 

When he opened his eyes he found a pair of green eyes staring at him. He yelped and jumped backwards, only to realize that there were actually  _four_  pairs of green eyes staring at him.

And all four pairs belonged to four identical Harrys standing in front of him in a small white room not unlike the one Draco was just in at St. Mungo’s. No, it wasn’t just that they were Harry, they were Harry when he was eleven years old.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” the Harry closest to him grinned mischievously. His round, chubby face held no hint of the lines that would gradually appear as he grew older.

“ _He_  said you’d come,” said one of the two Harrys in the middle. “‘Cause you’re looking for something you lost.”

“Do you want to play a game with us?” asked the other Harry in the middle. “If you win, we’ll help you find what you're looking for.”

“But,” said the last Harry, smirking, “if you lose, you’ll never find it.”

“That doesn’t sound fair to me,” Draco replied instinctively, getting up from the ground. He looked down at the Harrys and his chest tightened. Merlin, had he really been that tiny once?

One of the Harrys shrugged. “ _He’s_  not really fair, no.”

“So,” continued another one. “Do you want to play?”

“Or do you want to go?”

Draco straightened his back. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“There’s always a choice,” said one of the Harrys ominously.

They arranged themselves into a row and Draco twitched when all four of them fixed him with a burning stare. “Well?” Draco prompted. “What game are we playing, then?”

“You have to decide--”

“--which one of us is the _real_  Harry. It--”

“--could be any of us. But--”

“--there’s only one.” The Harry on the far right raised one hand with the index finger pointed at the sky.

“Well?” they said as one. “Choose.”

Draco opened his mouth, about to say “none of them,” when he paused. There was no doubt that this was a trick, what _kind_  was it? Just saying that none of them was the real Harry was too simple and picking one out of the four of them impossible.

He watched as they began to shift and, after a few moments, his eyes widened at the answer. The Harry on the far left was grinning broadly at him and standing in a confident pose--he was the most similar to the real Harry out of all of them. The one beside him tipped his head to the side and stared at Draco calculatingly, reminding Draco of the many times he’d seen Harry do the exact same thing whenever he was considering a Quidditch strategy. The next Harry grinned sheepishly at him and rocked back and forth on his heels; that was the shy Harry who didn’t consider himself a hero no matter how many times Draco told him he was. And finally, the last Harry was smirking at him like he knew a secret Draco didn’t. This was the Harry Draco could see thriving in Slytherin, just like the Hat said.

“You’re all a part of him,” answered Draco. “Each of you represents an aspect of him like the four Houses.”

The four Harrys exchanged looks and for one heart-stopping second Draco wondered if he was wrong.

(He couldn’t afford to be.)

“Correct!” all four Harrys shouted before a flash of light briefly blinded Draco.

When he opened his eyes again he nearly cried out; standing in front of him was _Harry_ , who looked achingly gorgeous in simple Muggle garments--healthy and, most importantly, _alive_. “Harry,” he whispered.

Harry smiled and shook his head. “Follow the memories. He’s waiting for you,” he said.

Draco blinked and once again found himself having been transported elsewhere. This time, it looked like the Leaky Cauldron, and in fact--

“Fuck,” Draco swore, recognizing himself sitting at a tiny table in the corner, staring down at his drink.

He knew where he was.

He watched as several wizards sneered down at him as they passed by his table, with one of them even spitting at the floor before him. The other Draco flinched and curled his body into a tight ball.

“Hey, knock it off.”

Harry swept in seconds later, glaring at the wizard like he was an irritating fly he dearly wanted to swat. The wizard’s face reddened and he muttered something that might have been an apology before ducking his head and shuffling away. Harry turned back to the other Draco and dragged out the empty chair in front of him. “Mind if I join you?”

“It’s a relatively free country, Potter,” said the other Draco. “I can’t stop you.” While he might have looked nonchalant to an onlooker, Draco remembered exactly how he felt in this memory. His heart was pounding so quickly against his rib cage that he was surprised Harry hadn’t been able to hear him.

Harry must have seen through the act as well because he quirked his lips up in a small, kind smile and sat down. “I wanted to thank you for not giving me up back in the Room of Requirements.”

“There’s really no need,” replied the other Draco.

“Yes, there is,” said Harry. “But that’s not it. I...I was hoping we could start over again. As friends.” He stuck his hand out in a mirror of their first trip on the Hogwarts Express.

The other Draco stared at Harry and his outstretched hand for a long time, looking like he was seriously contemplating the advantages and disadvantages of associating himself with Harry. The real Draco, of course, knew better.

The other Draco was currently shaking like a leaf and scrambling to come up with the appropriate answer.

But Draco had had enough of what was appropriate and inappropriate by this point--not that there was exactly a rule book for this kind of thing. In the end, the other Draco took Harry’s hand and shook it. “My name’s Draco Malfoy. You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort, you know.”

Harry matched his tentative smile with a full blown one. “I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks.”

Another flash and when Draco blinked open his eyes this time, it was to find his other self and Harry kissing in the middle of Hyde Park. He watched as the other Draco melted into the embrace, having been touch starved for so long, before he snapped out of it and pushed Harry away, panting heavily.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted, “this was a mistake. I didn’t mean to--”

“But I did,” interrupted Harry. He stepped closer to the other Draco with his arms outstretched, like he was approaching a wild animal. “I meant every bit of it.”

The other Draco whipped his head around frantically. “People will talk,” he said, a note of hysteria in his voice.

Harry made a show of scanning the park and shrugging. “Not these people,” he said. He took another step until he was able to touch the other Draco, which he did. He gently cupped the other Draco’s cheek with his palm. “So? Are you alright with that?”

The other Draco gasped but didn’t pull away. Eventually, after what felt like eternity (it had felt longer to Draco at the time), he nodded shakily. “Yeah, I think I am.”

Harry’s smile could’ve blinded an army of Dementors. He leaned in for another kiss and--

Hyde Park vanished from view, replaced by a darkened bedroom.

Draco closed his eyes and exhaled. He knew what was to come.

“So you’re just going to lock yourself up in the Manor for the rest of your life? Just like that?” he heard Harry ask.

He could’ve recited what the other Draco said next from playing over the conversation so many times in his head. “Yes, I am. You know that it’s stupid to think that I could do well in Hogwarts. I may have been cleared of all charges, thanks to you, but we both know that doesn’t make me innocent in the eyes of the wizarding world.”

“Well, screw what they all think! We can deal with that when the time comes. Right now, all I’m asking is for you to stay,” Harry begged.

(Draco had never in his life heard Harry beg before that day.)

The other Draco straightened up from where he was packing a surprisingly large amount of belongings that had made Grimmauld Place feel more like home. He had been too cowardly to turn around and look at Harry when he said, “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

And just like all the other times, the scene faded away.

This time, Draco was back in the first room with the four Harrys.

Except standing in front of him was a tall man with diamond white skin, long black hair that reached his waist, and a thick black coat. It was _him_.

“Congratulations,” said Death, clapping his hands and grinning impishly. “No one has ever made it this far before, except for dear ole Orpheus. You should count yourself lucky.”

“Where's Harry?” Draco demanded, pulling the Elder Wand out of his pocket. The wand thrummed like a Muggle automobile engine--he wasn't entirely comfortable with wielding it, especially not after realizing the part he played in the war, but it still recognized his magic like he recognized its aura. He knew it was ultimately useless but he felt more secure having its heavy weight in his hand.

“No time for chit chat, even?” said Death, pouting. He shrugged. “Very well, I suppose I should hold up my end of the bargain.” He snapped his fingers and a small white ball of light appeared in his hands.

It was a tiny thing but Draco could feel its warmth seep into his skin even from a distance of a few feet. The little ball of energy pulsated and Draco felt something in his gut being pulled towards it.

“What is this?” he asked, though he suspected he knew the answer.

“This, Mr. Malfoy,” explained Death, “is Harry Potter’s soul.”

Draco hesitantly reached out to touch it but Death immediately snatched it back, hugging it closer to his chest. “Hmm, I don’t think so,” he drawled. “You see, Mr. Potter is overdue for a payment and I thought it was time I collected.”

“He sacrificed himself to save the world,” growled Draco. “He deserves to live.”

Because he couldn't imagine a world without Harry. Because he knew, out of everyone in the whole damn planet,  _he_ was the only one worthy enough to inhabit it.

Because Draco would fall apart without him.

“What Mr. Potter deserves or doesn’t deserve has nothing to do with me,” Death said calmly. “All I care about is what is owed me and Mr. Potter’s soul has been in my debt for a long, long time.” He cocked his head to the side, considering. “Unless, of course, you have a better offer?”

Draco immediately scrambled for the Invisibility Cloak and the Resurrection Stone in his pocket. Along with the Elder Wand, he thrust the two items out in front of Death, bowing his head slightly as he did so. “Are these what you're after?” Even though he could practically hear the Elder Wand begging him to keep it, his heart cried louder for Harry.

Death considered him for a long moment before chuckling. “So he _can_  learn. That is refreshing to hear.”

Draco’s pounding heart was deafening in his ears. “Well?” he prodded, his eyes never leaving the soul pulsating in a steady rhythm in Death’s hand. “Do we have a deal?”

Death tapped his chin with a finger as his eyes lazily swept over the Deathly Hallows. “It would be nice to have them back,” he said airily. He shrugged. “Why not? Deal.”

 

* * *

 

"--Did it work?"

Draco gasped as he felt two soft hands grab him by the shoulders and shake him. He only had a second of wondering which memory he had fallen into this time before it all came rushing back. Pushing Granger's arms off him he ran to the bed and cupped Harry's cheeks in his hands. "Wake up, Potter!" he yelled. "Wake up, damn you! I did  _not_ go through all that just for you to lie here like a useless--"

Draco heard Granger cry out as Harry slowly blinked open his eyes, revealing another thing that Draco loved most about him; his brilliant green eyes. Harry stared up at the ceiling for a few seconds before slowly turning his head to face Draco, blinking in confusion. "Draco?" he asked, his voice hoarse from disuse. "That you?"

Draco couldn't stop the wide, uncharacteristic smile from stretching across his face even if he wanted to. "Yeah--Yeah, it's time," he said, "and I'm not going anywhere."

(Harry's smile was brighter than the sun.)


End file.
